


Kryptonite

by LeafOffTheWind (LeafOnTheWind)



Series: Ficlet Roulette [2]
Category: Batman - All Media Types, Batman: The Animated Series, Justice League & Justice League Unlimited (Cartoons), Justice League - All Media Types
Genre: "[name] no!", Auction, Bruce Wayne is Richer Than God, F/F, F/M, Fake/Pretend Relationship, Fic Exchange, Gen, Green Kryptonite, Harley Loves the Joker, Identity Issues, Kryptonite, Not Beta Read, POV Tim Drake, Pamela Isley Loves Harleen Quinzel, Pamela Isley is a Good Bro, Pining, Poison Ivy's Pheromones, Rich Tim Drake, Secret Identity, The Joker Does Not Love Harley, The Rogues Gallery (Batman), Tim Drake is Red Robin, Tim Drake is a Trust Fund Kid, Tim Drake-centric, Tim Drake/Pamela Isley if you squint, Tuesdays suck, What Does Wayne Enterprises Even Do?, how did i forget to tag that, it's literally the name
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-10
Updated: 2020-08-10
Packaged: 2021-03-06 07:14:58
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,792
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25819435
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LeafOnTheWind/pseuds/LeafOffTheWind
Summary: Red Robin is on a mission to retrieve some kryptonite that’s made its way into Gotham, keep it out of the wrong hands, and do so without drawing attention to himself.Luckily, it’s being auctioned off to the highest bidder, and he has quite a bit of funding behind him.Unluckily, the auction is meant for Gotham’s biggest villains.
Relationships: Joker (DCU)/Harleen Quinzel, Pamela Isley & Harleen Quinzel, Pamela Isley/Harleen Quinzel, Tim Drake & Pamela Isley
Series: Ficlet Roulette [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2006431
Comments: 2
Kudos: 63
Collections: Fanfic Roulette 2020 Round 2





	Kryptonite

**Author's Note:**

> For a fic exchange. The prompts:
> 
> IP: DC Universe  
> Prompt 1: Fake Relationship  
> Prompt 2: "[Name], no!"

It was a Tuesday when Tim Drake finally tracked down the last missing shard of kryptonite they’d lost during last week’s disaster. That really should have been an indication of how things would go, but after days of pretty much constant detective work, he was just glad for a lead, no matter how unfortunate that lead might be.

 _Dés Pondérés_. The Stacked Deck’s more pretentious cousin, Dés Pondérés was more up Bruce Wayne’s alley than Batman’s, if Bruce Wayne were actually a criminal mastermind rather than a well-known philanthropist. Unfortunately, that means that Bruce Wayne was very pointedly _not_ welcome there, thus Tim’s current task: get into tonight’s auction, keep that shard out of the wrong hands, and emphatically _do not_ draw attention to himself while doing it. Easy.

Not so easy, it turns out. Of all people, the Penguin is the host, and has filled out his usual staff with an assortment of mercenaries and assassins Tim recognizes for the auction itself. Not only that, but the other items on the block are all deliciously valuable for any number of Gotham’s rogues, and he’d bet his bottom dollar there’ll be a hell of a turnout tonight.

He’s right, of course. He so often is.

Red Robin can’t be seen here, so Tim has done his best to dress to the event in a sharp tuxedo and domino mask, with a few discreet weapons hidden beneath. He sees his chance with a group of similarly-dressed men as they round the corner, but he’s barely joined them before he’s roughly pulled aside, the bouncer asking for his name and invitation. He knew he should have just snuck in another way, assassin guards be damned. His arm still tightly in their grasp, Tim dons a charming smile and prepares to talk his way into the club when he catches a whiff of something floral and sweet.

He turns his head and sees the most beautiful woman he’s ever seen directly behind him, her long red hair swept to one side and cascading in a waterfall down her chest beside her thick stole, her figure gently hugged by a forest-green dress slit as high as its neckline is low, delicate gloves reaching out towards him. The embroidered leaves seem to move as she does, hugging her waist and keeping her just this side of indecent. His words catch in his throat as she pulls his arm against her side and leans against him. What was he doing again? He leans in.

Wait, what was he doing again? He blinks. What is he _doing_?

She’s no longer looking at him, though the scent of flowers is still thick in the air, making it difficult for him to focus. _Poison Ivy_. He knows this, and does his best to block it out. _Don’t make a scene_.

“Again, Ivy? You know the policy, you gotta tell us in advance if you’re bringin’ a plus-one,” the bouncer grouches. His meaty hand is no longer grasping Tim, instead folded across his chest defensively.

“Oh come on, Joey, I wasn’t planning to, honest! You know men just can’t _resist_ me.” Her lips curl into a coy smile as she gently wafts more perfume—pheromones—in Tim’s direction. She turns her sultry stare entirely on him again, “Isn’t that right, baby?”

He isn’t sure what he said, but the next thing he knows they’re walking through the door, the bouncer—Joey—shaking his head and muttering.

Tim recovers more quickly now, knowing who he’s up against. _Remember: no drawing attention to yourself. She might not know who you are still_. A glance around confirms he’s still being watched—are they looking at him or her?—as Ivy leads him through the crowd. He spots a more isolated alcove and does his best to urge them in that direction, discreetly inserting filters into his nose as they go. They’re ridiculously uncomfortable, but he’s clearly going to need them tonight. What he wouldn’t give to be able to put his more comfortable filtration mask on; unfortunately, that’s not exactly subtle.

Ivy allows him to direct them away from the crowds with only a token protest, running her hands across his lapels. “If you wanted to get me alone, you just had to ask, darling,” she murmurs, pulling him down towards her suggestively.

Tim grabs her shoulders and firmly pushes her back to arm’s length. Were she anyone else Ivy would have stumbled at the force behind it, but she just smiles sardonically and cocks a hip, letting her skirt fall open over her leg. “Always pushing me away, I’m hurt! Someone might think you don’t like me,” she pouts.

“I don’t,” the hero frowns and gets right to the point. “Why did you get me in?” He’s not in his Red Robin regalia, naturally, and nobody knows his identity; if they did, they’d also know Batman’s, and all the other Robins. So what on earth does Poison Ivy have to gain from him? “Do you know who I am?” He realizes belatedly that sounds ridiculously cliché, but that might actually work for him here.

Poison Ivy scoffs, “Of course I do, who do you take me for? Tim Drake, Saint Wayne’s latest protégé, making his own way.” She pauses significantly, raising an eyebrow. “With a hefty trust fund, of course.” Her smile grows wider and markedly more villainous. “Wouldn’t it be such a shame if they knew you were a Wayne? You’d be kicked out at _least_ ,” she tuts, “and I for one am _eager_ to know what brings such a person to such a den of villainy.”

“Maybe I’m less like him than people like to think,” he bluffs.

“Mmhm. Right.” Ivy looks him up and down, in his suit tailored the same as Bruce’s, his shoes the same make, his cufflinks the same style. Tim flushes at the wordless rebuke. “As… unlike your guardian as you might be,” she snorts lightly, clearly showing her thoughts on _that_ , “you _know_ you’d never have gotten in here on your own.” Poison Ivy draws nearer again, circling him like a crawling vine, dragging her hand along the shoulders of his formal jacket as she goes. She leans in from behind him. “I’d say that means you owe me one, hm?”

His face shows his displeasure at the thought. “What do you _want_ , Poison Ivy?” He makes sure to have his voice wobble a little there. Can’t seem too confident with an infamous Gotham character such as she in his Tim persona. God, he’d love to just fight and get it over with, but that won’t work here, not if he wants to stay unnoticed, though… with Ivy hanging off his arm, peoples’ eyes slid right past him in favor of Ivy. Hm.

“Well,” she begins, “in return for my _generous_ admission and companionship this evening, a _highly_ sought-after commodity I assure you, I think I deserve something nice, don’t you? Say, some of the items up for auction?”

He internally scoffs at the idea of her needing money for anything. Just flutter her eyelashes at the nearest rube and he’ll be happy to throw everything at her, lord knows she’s done it enough. She’s looking at him expectantly, and he realizes she’s released another burst of pheromones in his direction. _He’s tonight’s rube._ Another detriment to having the filters in: he can’t smell anything now, including the telltale signs of an attempted dosage.

He hesitates too long and her expression shutters. “Unless, of course, you don’t _want_ to be my plus one,” she bites, her eyes drifting towards the guards lining the hall threateningly. Tim clenches his jaw. At this point, even if he manages to sneak back in, the guards will recognize someone they’ve thrown out that night. Fine. If it needs to be done, it needs to be done. He plasters on a sappy grin.

“For you, flower? Anything.” He does his best to make himself as unassuming and compliant as possible, but Ivy hasn’t gotten to where she is by being naïve. She’ll be on her guard the rest of the evening, he’s certain.

He lets Ivy pull his arm in again and guide them back to the crowd.

\--

It’s another hour before the bell is rung to indicate the auction would begin soon. That hour was about fifty-nine minutes and thirty seconds more time than Tim Drake wanted to spend feigning infatuation with Poison Ivy, someone he’d fought and captured less than a month ago as Red Robin.

The security in Arkham Asylum is truly appalling.

When the bell rings, Tim’s posture relaxes for a moment, and he lets out a sigh of relief. He cannot _wait_ for this night to be over, though he can admit it wasn’t as bad as he’d been dreading spending the time with Ivy. It was funny enough watching her effect on others when you weren’t the target. Just as he’d thought, nobody had spared him a second glance once they realized whose arm he was on.

Unfortunately, he was no closer to understanding what she was there for than when he’d started, just that there were a few objects (likely 2-3) that she wanted, with one being the priority. Tim was not able to find the full list of items to be auctioned tonight, only a few of the less important ones once he realized what sort of event this was, and none that sounded useful to a plant mistress.

At the very least he was confident she was not here for the kryptonite. He’d mentioned it in a lull in conversation and she’d merely glanced up at him, amused, with a “A budding Lex, are we?” His cheeks burned at the comparison, but he could see the connection from her perspective.

It was not one he preferred to think about again. He was _nothing_ like Lex Luthor.

Tim lets Ivy lead them as she’s done all night. She glares heatedly at a couple about to take a pair of seats right by the lecturn until they pale and beat a hasty retreat, leaving the seats open for the two of them. She somehow makes sitting triumphantly an elegant gesture rather than a tacky one as the lights dim.

This auction starts much the same as any auction does, the emcee introducing the auctioneer and the items up for grabs. Tim’s eyes immediately narrow onto a metal box near the end of the lineup with a distinctive green glow showing through the keyhole. There’s his target. He grimaces as the auction begins and he notices it’s near the end of the lineup. Of course he has to stay regardless, but he doesn’t like the idea of waiting so long with it right there, close enough to touch seated where he is.

Tim doesn’t let himself slouch, but he really does not care for events like these. At least mingling beforehand he could do something productive, spying on Poison Ivy and other rogues of Gotham. He’s sure he spotted the Riddler at one point, and the Penguin is the host so of course was making the rounds. There’s no way he’d be able to trust the hors d’oeuvres in such mixed company, and drinking was obviously off the table, so on top of his boredom, he’s starving and thirsty as all get out.

The items Ivy is purchasing with his money (how irritating…) she doesn’t even seem interested in. She outbids a man that might be Captain Boomerang for a DNA sample of Starfire, and gets what appears to be one of _his own cowls_ for the hell of it for a truly unreasonable amount of _his money_. When the next item comes up, though, they both perk up.

It’s one of Batman’s belts, and he knows _exactly_ which one this is. There’s a telltale stain on the third pouch from the left; this is the belt they’d thought was destroyed after being dropped in acid last week. It has evidence on Batman’s identity in that pouch. Tim firms up. He _cannot_ let a villain— _any_ villain—get their hands on this.

He raises his placard for the first time, putting on his best nonchalant expression. It doesn’t matter whether he succeeds, as Ivy turns her glare on him again, before turning sweet and breathing deeply again. He has no doubt she’s reinforcing the pheromones, and thanks past-self again for his overpreparedness. “Aww, getting it for me? How sweet!”

“I can’t let you do everything, now can I sugar?” He feels dirty saying it, but whatever gets him through the night. Just a little longer.

He gets the belt, because of course he does, even if it seemed everyone and their mother was bidding on this one. His funds, ever full, felt distinctly lighter in his mind. Bruce would reimburse him for this, especially given the reason behind it, but Tim hates spending money so frivolously.

Finally, _finally_ the kryptonite comes up. His purchase is anticlimactic after the furor over the belt. Only one other person makes a half-hearted attempt at bidding against him. After the amount he spent on the belt, not many would try again except out of spite to drive the price up, which they certainly do. He didn’t expect anything different from this crowd.

They take away the shard to be packed up as the auctioneer begins closing out the event; that was the last item to be sold. Tim lets out a breath he’s not sure how long he’s been holding as a weight lifts off his shoulders. The night isn’t done, but it’s mostly through. He turns to look at his companion for the night and starts planning how he’ll be able to get the belt from her without causing a scene.

An assistant comes from the back room with the belt, neatly wrapped. Ivy peers at it, not hungrily as he’d anticipated, but pained, determined. Tim only has a moment to contemplate why when her expression abruptly shifts into contemplation, sniffing lightly. Her eyes widen and she jolts up and toward the stained-glass window, with a “ _Harley, NO!”_ pulled rough and involuntary from her throat.

A bomb goes off, shattering the massive window and raining colored glass across the room. Harley Quinn leaps through the new entrance, cackling madly and swinging her trademark oversized hammer. She doesn’t pause for a moment, bounding across the room towards the assistant with the belt.

The room descends into chaos. While there is a weapons ban on the event, it’s hardly a surprise when Ivy’s stole separates into vines, when the Penguin’s henches pull out sub-machine guns, when claws and knives and fire come out to play. Any time so many villains assemble, the peace is balanced on a knife’s edge, and Harley just shoved it right off.

Cheetah bounds onto Mr. Freeze, an assassin comes out of the woodwork to slice another open, Parasite and Copperhead attempt to gang up on Giganta before she grows and throws a chandelier at them, and Harley Quinn is continuing her bouncing, faux-bubbly trek towards Poison Ivy and Tim Drake, the assistant having thrown the belt their way and run to hide in the back.

And here he’d thought the night was almost over.

As always, the fight turns into a blur, Tim having to hold himself back as much as possible while keeping the belt in his field of view and not getting himself or anyone else severely hurt. Harley finally gets to Ivy and cries out in confused fury, “You? You were the one to nab this bad boy?” She grits her teeth. “You know I gotta have it, Ivy, an’ I’m not gonna let even you stop me.”

“You know it’s not going to work, Harley,” Ivy responds, going for icy and missing by a mile. “You get this for him, he’s just going to take it and throw you aside like he always does, like he’s done every time!” Desperation laces her retort. “You have to know how this ends by now, Harl.” Tim takes his chair and uses it as a bludgeon against Killer Croc, who’s angrily trying to bite his head off for some reason. Did he ever do anything to Croc in his civilian persona? He can’t’ve.

Harley Quinn takes another swing at Poison Ivy, who redirects it with her quickly-growing vine stole, her dress’ seemingly-embroidered vines also coming alive and wrapping around the belt to free up Ivy’s hands. She’s clearly stalling at this point, a furious Harley Quinn in an increasingly acrobatic one-sided battle against Ivy.

At this point, Tim is torn between his need to get the shard of kryptonite and the belt. Neither one can be left in villainous hands, both leading to incredible weaknesses for some of the biggest names in the superheroic world. He bites his cheek until he tastes blood. _Sorry, Superman._

The battle in front of him—surrounded by so many, this is by far the priority—has not paused for his introspection. Harley has made use of Ivy’s reluctance to hurt her, and has burned some of the botanist’s vines holding the belt, making them recoil in pain, dropping it. Ivy herself gives a shout of surprise at the miniature firebomb, crooning to the damaged plants and sending a betrayed glance at the clown. She _knows_ what that means to her.

Tim takes this opportunity to send some of the shards of window at the pair, deflecting off of Harley’s hammer and shallowly slicing at the belt, separating the section she’s holding from the pouches. They fall to the floor, Tim crawling towards it to grab and get out of this madness, when a decorative fern from across the fight reaches out and plucks it out of the air, curling back in on itself. Tch, so close.

Harley doesn’t burn anything green again, but is hardly without other methods. That is, until Ivy manages to get her heel into a small gap in Harley’s hammer, deftly prying it apart with a flick of her ankle. She then uses yet more vines to infiltrate the gap and widen it to uselessness until the scorned Quinn chucks it away with a shriek of frustration, instead opting to leap forward hands-first.

Ivy lets it happen, sending them both into a roll across the glass-covered floor until she manages to get the advantage, pinning Harley down first with her own weight, then with _yet more_ vines as she sobs and wails. It’s painful to listen to.

Tim turns away. It’s not his business, and he’s feeling uncomfortably empathetic towards someone on the other side. The rest of the fighting has died down, making her cries all the harder to ignore. There’s an immense amount of property damage, but the other combatants seem to have dispersed for the most part; he can see Croc chasing Joey the Snail down the street, and the Penguin has disappeared to the back room he’s sure.

He’s pretty surprised the Joker didn’t show his face here, though if he had this night might have actually gone worse. Tim imagines the Joker being after both Red Robin as an associate of Batman _and_ his real identity of Tim Drake and shudders. No, it’s definitely for the better he wasn’t here.

Ivy is murmuring to Harley, her breath heavy and wet, as if she’s also holding back tears. He looks over and Poison Ivy gently caresses Harley’s face, wiping away her tears and petting her disheveled hair, trying her best to talk her down. Red Robin—that is who he is right now, regardless of his façade—feels uncomfortably like he’s intruding on a Moment, but he still has his mission. Missions, now.

The crunch of glass below his feet brings both him and Ivy back to the moment, and he breaks into a sprint towards the fern holding the belt until the floor, at this point a lattice of vines and decorative plants grown too large for their planters, reaches up to grab him. He takes a leap, but given his attire and lack of supplies, he really doesn’t stand a chance. In moments, he’s bound.

Ivy is torn for a moment, but she prioritizes the immediate issue and approaches Tim, affixed to the floor as he is. She holds out a hand and the fern unfurls, placing the item gently in her still-gloved hand.

“You know, I knew she was after this. She’s why I’m here.” Ivy attempts a smile. It doesn’t work. “I was almost tempted to hand it over later, until, well.” Her grip tightens around the belt, letting out a self-depreciating chuckle and turning back to face her. “I’m glad you burst in when you did, Harley. It made me realize… nobody should have this information,” she trails off. “Not even me.”

“No, Ivy, please, please let me—he’ll take me back this time, I know he will, he _loves me Ivy_ —"

She plucks a seed from her still perfectly coiffed hair and it grows and grows until a single pitcher plant emerges. Ivy looks at Harley for a beat too long before lifting the belt and dropping it summarily into the pitcher. A hissing emerges from the apparently acidic pitcher plant as the belt and its clue, inside the pouch third from the left, melt into biodegradable goo.

“He doesn’t love you, Harl,” Tim barely hears. “I’m sorry.” Ivy presses a tender kiss on her forehead before turning back to Tim, exhausted.

“And as for you, loverboy, pucker up. I’m not in the mood for a fight.”

Tim tries again to twist out of his bonds, but doesn’t manage it in time. God, he hopes this is a knockout formula not a deadly one. He surreptitiously breaks his antidote tooth, just in case as his vision starts to darken. The last thing he sees is Ivy kneeling down on the glass, her dress in tatters, saying _something to Harley Qui—_

\--

Tim Drake wakes with a jolt, still in his suit, now slightly shredded and missing a cufflink, but overall, not too worse-for-wear. Of course, that doesn’t mean his head isn’t throbbing, his nose dry from the filters, his jaw aching where he grit his teeth in his sleep.

He wakes in a motel room with a note in his right hand and a key in his left. A key to the box on the nightstand, a green glow showing through the keyhole. He tries it, and the box opens to reveal not a tiny shard of kryptonite, but a massive chunk of glowing green radium. A laugh bursts out of his chest as he hurriedly shuts and locks the lead box, collapsing back onto the bed.

Back on the hunt, he supposes.

Friggin’ Tuesdays.

**Author's Note:**

> It has been a While since I've dived into a DCU and 98% of my knowledge therein comes from the DCAU and cultural osmosis. Please let me know if anything is dreadfully wrong. Hope you enjoyed! =)


End file.
